I can report Karen O. has matured into one of this-minute rock’s most affecting performers- a life-battered, kohl-eyed waif with an almost frightening emotional range in her cooing and choked syllables. They had the audience with them all the way, from the rambunctious opening through a confetti snowstorm to the coup de theatre at the end when the giant floating eyeballs were let loose.

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The Monolators are America’s greatest midnight band, who always make it worth staying up all night. I look forward to their closing sets, because they play straight up, balls out garage-punk-pop better than anyone on the eastside OR the westside. I realized going into their set that there was a sixty-percent chance that my badly stubbed toe would be broken (it was) by the end of the night, with an even greater likelihood that one of the Monolators would destroy some equipment (they did). It’s a real shame that they can’t clone the Monolators seven or eight times so they can close every show (at least in the eastside clubs) every night of the week.

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